Thursday, February 3, 2011

We're held up somewhere in Norwegia furiously birthing rebate contracts for impatient supply chain managers and their hungry masters. Our hotel room kicks senses with its break room microwave size, temperature and funk as we hurl persusives at the void in our laptop which demands more, faster. The pitchfork we employ to furrow hunky prospects through our engorged sales funnel is presently sharp with market-ideal new products and cashy development projects at multinational planet owners . We're the street wise Herculeses whom keep the pumped blood from falling out of your global economy. You need us...until the morning light.

The cab driver escorting us to our next great triumph keeps singing ' it's okay' after every U turn and icy fishtail. We question his allegiance to the traffic laws of this socialist republic when he passes a caravan by racing through an adjacent car park. Its ok. Sure it is Laslov, our doubts reflect off your shiny forehead and back into our frightened cringes.

Achebrained from bosss' monologue surrounding a 3000 krona bottle of wine and too many expenses classed OTHER, we hold the phone up to Laslov's unsolicited reassurances . It's okay. Look sire, if you can find the one pep dealer in south Finway who takes chip n pin, then let us know. Till then, stop bringing it up, it's making us anxious.

We finally pull up to a medical device manufacturer you'd definitely recognize and thank Laslov with exact change. It's okay?

Our prep for this visit is mighty, our proposal, murderous and confidence, godlike. We are the Delta.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

The winds of corporate whoremongering have swept us north this summer season to pluck sticky revenue from cool mangroves and generally assault a different populous with our empty promises and emptier moral ground. We sell like a fat man breathes: hard and only when requisite.

Lords in Canada

Niagara Falls. We approach any immigration line with the same caution Papa Smurf would a slice of blueberry strudel. Since we tend to live our lives generally tight roping your laws, we run through a mental checklist each time an authoritative representative stands in our path or on the back of our head.

In this instance, our mask of innocence proves too translucent as we are asked to kindly take a sharp left and park where that officer is standing. A bearded Canuck tosses our Corolla whilst another asks us really an exorbitant number of questions. We've got a script for his answers and one for the purple drank they rooted out (thank you Dr. Stolenpad!). Fortunately the tender palmed border monkey didn't locate the key of dat sniff taped to a Christian infant in the spare tyre housing.

"No sir, we were unaware of the child's addiction. We blame the schools."

We ease into the stench-rich city of Hamilton, ON for our first meeting. Most of what we learned about sales and marketing can be traced back to Nelly's debut album Country Grammar, so our style's raw and we mack like Todd Shaw. Singing loud, we from the Loop and we proud

Here it goes. We hate our customers generally. every ounce of acting and Xanax is poured into our performance in front of them whilst we mentally plan for the Apocalypse when we'd have an excuse to track down and kill them; something which we imagine would be fun at first, but, like anything, eventually would turn into a tedious chore.

The Canadian flavor of fuckstomer has a specifically dallas taste. While polite, EVERYMOTHERFUCKINGTHING is about how great Canada is compared to the US. It's a miserable blend of insecurity and misplaced pride. "How do you like our highways? They were designed to simulate the German Autobon." Amazing. We're amazed. We get it, you've got smooth roads and free healthcare and cheap pills, we've got pocky streets, HMOs and lilJoJo's markup on grainy Vike.

It reminds us of our Dallas friends who indiscriminately hate Houston and claim everything for Dallas. Sports teams, sushi, chicks, nightlife, water, gay clubs, talk radio, cocaine, skyline, latitude are all shinier or less cut with baking soda in Dallas.

Monday, June 21, 2010

1. Stephan and his Gang over at the Pantheon that is The Loop Scoop introduces you to Phil's Texas Barbecue on Washington. We're all for the addition of another BBQ estab in our circular hood, especially after getting blackballed from Beaver's for misdemeanor vulgarity and excessive puns.

2. The e-sperm recepticle known as Click2Houston is holding its election for best Houston Blog 2010. For the second straight year, your Lords of the Loop are left off the active ballot. It looks like our hard work and even harder deathwishes will be overlooked this annum; when you consider Click2Houston is the same organization that rated Taste of TexasHouston's best steak house in 2009, we're pleased with the unassociation.

4. Question of the Week: Outside of The Olive Garden, if you were forced to punch food in your face at ANY restaurant ITL once a day for the rest of your sad existence, which Houston locale would you choose?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

cunts with jack/two preflop raisesrod and a load of anti semitic phrasesthe poker chips always get forgotso Audi keys and barbiturates sit in the potstakes increase and senses get numbit's midnight and Diesel has lost a thumbvicodin antes and a master card betwe play guts,anaconda and mexican sweatcarlos just wagered his fucking spousesatan calls it with a monster full housea few more pulls off that xanax and spriteand surely someone is dying tonight

Thursday, June 10, 2010

The passage from mortal to God is reserved for only a select few. This metamorphosis is as violent as a 17th century offshore amputation, as rumored as the clitoris and as magical as the Malaysian textile industry.

Part of this shift is a maintenance of nature's fragile equilibrium, therefore:

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

During one of the least charming periods of our life spent harvesting revenue/profit/organs from this planet and its Sentian beings, we lived serious levies of hourglass sand in the satellite they call Sugar Land, TX. Even though we've cracked the egg from within of our career to soar far from that stretchy-pants never never, the occasions do arise when we must brave the mist and return to our oozy birthnest.

So we go to Sugar Land like once a week to monitor our goings-on and mentor the savagely retarded that work in a network of beaver holes near the haunted Imperial Sugar factory off HWY 90. Lunch options in SL are like choosing your own form of capital punishment: death is inevitable, you're just left deciding the quickest methodology. That's why we ALWAYS choose the aorta kickers at Captains D's Motherfucking Seafood Kitchen to fill our souls with delight and our hearts with breaded whitefish.

Every Tuesday, the benevolent Capt'n D opens his treasure chest to share a bounty of $10 all-you-can-eat cod. You can bet the The Jenny Jones Show will be on both 37 inchers, which is fine, since the iodine overexposure gives you the lobotomy required to enjoy such daytime television delights. Take care, because it's slippery. Look, you don't use peanut oil at that clip and not have a thin coating of shine lathered over everything in looking distance.

Just because our days in Sugar Land are long, doesn't mean our life needs to be.Thanks matey!

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

10. Under My Thumb (The Rolling Stones)It's down to me, the way she talks when she's spoken to Down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb

9. Voices Carry (Til Tuesday)He wants me, but only part of the timeHe wants me, if he can keep me in lineHush hush, keep it down now, voices carry

8. Untouched (The Veronicas)I feel so untouched and I want you so muchThat I just can't resist you, it's not enough to say that I miss youI feel so untouched right now, need you so muchSomehow I can't forget you, I've gone crazy from the moment I met you

7. Boombastic (Shaggy)I'm Boombastic rated as the bestThe best you should get nothing more nothing lessGive me your digits jot down your addressI'll bet you confess when you put me to the testI'm Boombastic say me fantastic touch me on my butt she says I'm Mr Boom...

6. Piece of My Heart (Janis Joplin)Never, never, never, never, never, never hear me when I cry at nightBabe, I cry all the time!And each time I tell myself that I, well I can't stand the painBut when you hold me in your arms, I'll sing it once again

5. Magic Man (Heart)"Come on home, girl" Mama cried on the phone"Too soon to lose my baby yet, my girl should be at home"But try to understand....try to understand.Try, try, try to understand...He's a magic man, Mama...ah...he's a magic man

4. Big Poppa (Notorious B.I.G.)

Who they attractin with that line, "What's your name what's your sign" Soon as he buy that wine I just creep up from behind And ask what your interests are, who you be with Things to make you smile, what numbers to dial3. Red House (Jimi Hendrix)There's a red house over yonder, baby, that's where my baby stays. Well, I ain't been home to see my baby in about ninety nine and one half days ...I might as well go back over yonder, way back yonder 'cross the hill 'Cos if my baby don't love me no more, I know her sister will!

2. One Week of Danger (The Virgins)Well is there something that you like about her? Yes.I like the way that her body bends in half. And is there something that you love about her? No. There ain't a woman in this world I wont let go.

1. You're So Vain (Carly Simon)Well I hear you went up to Saratoga and your horse naturally won Then you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia To see the total eclipse of the sun Well you're where you should be all the time And when you're not you're with Some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend Wife of a close friend Nearly forty years later, people debate the identify of the barb-cocked lothario who inspired this tormented wailing. Well played, sir.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

We pull up to River Oaks Cleaners on Washington in a car full of fine linens & silk, like a modern day Marco Polo returning to the canals of Venice with fragrant curries and small brown slaves.

We heard Cova went out of business and recall on thoughts of what dildos the barstaff were the one time we overpaid for a small piece of Alexander Valley there. We make a silent wish that they are all struggling for rent money on this day and the next.

There is a budding line to the counter of ROC. A man in scrubs, our age, is sifting through most of his wardrobe with the accommodating Hispanic woman counting collars as he shuffles his Bugatchi shine from one edge of the Formica to the other. Separating him and us is a blond woman donning a pair of face swallowing sunglasses and badly wrinkled clothing of her own.

Woman leans back, quietly asks: Who dry cleans jeans?

Us back to the woman loud enough for all to hear: Probably someone who wears powder blue scrubs on their day off.Woman, mockingly: Right

The scrubbed man, still rifling through his garb, turns to look at us with a sort of angered embarrassment. He turns back towards Hispanola and states his name and phone number.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Mondays are the infant-cooking bandersnatches that poke at our joysockets and taunt wrinkled slacks. We reserve Tuesdays for a jelly bean assortmant of stolen pilldrugs and general mid to high cap shoplifting. On Wednesdays we work. Don't believe, mira...

To Dos (5/11)

AM

- Two Sunrise breakfast taquitos and a med vanilla hazelnut coffee

- Call on a large healthcare account, listen to complaints about delivery/quality/attitude, pledge change/resolution/brimstone, take no actions

Friday, April 30, 2010

We slacked on our postings for a loooong, long time. Truth is, DB was in a coma from straining to play guitar using nothing but his cock. BB was in county for robbing a Licka Stoe. It took several months to convince the stoopid pigs that we own the Licka Stoe. EW had a six month internship as a gaffer with Vivid Video. Your own DS just returned from a peyote-infused vision quest in the remote jungles of Ecuador. And CV -- hell, no one's actually seen CV in six years. We just hear the war stories from the Washington Shore. "Did you see Carlos at Brixx last night? Mad mutha was going CRA-AAAZZZY."

But these are not excuses, and we acknowledge our sin. Even the Lords are not above the law -- well, except for Jude Law, obviously. We're above that shit sandwich like the frank's above the beans. But we're not above Man Law, and for our pennance, we are lifting our normal shroud of secrecy to share ten heretofore little-known facts about the Lords with our loyal Loopizens. This shit is explosive; please be discreet.

10. Bleach dies every night in his sleep. But he is always reincarnated as himself, only slightly better looking.9. Diesel once bested a pack of West U collarpoppers using nothing but a hippie mind trick.

8. The water in Dick's pool is collected from the tears of baby unicorns. It heals what ails you, and increases penis size.

7. Ed has not eaten since 2005. He is nourished by the respect of men and the adoration of women.

6. Carlos bedded an entire pride of Palm Beach cougars in a single night. Those "ladies" still gather once a year to commemorate the last good rogering they ever will know.

5. Every Lord received more than 100,000 write-in votes for President in 2008.

4. When Diesel plays Monopoly, he never ever goes to jail.

3. OJ Simpson lives in Bleach's guest room. We call him Kato.

2. When Ed frowns, an earthquake happens. But every time he smiles, a kitten is born.1. The Lords love things with seashells and seahorses on them, like blankets, and towels, and little bags.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Cock-a-doodle-do! Like a Red Giant perched on the thoroughfare that is Shepherd Drive, BRC is the new celestial beacon of light in the life of the Lords. Yesterday evening we had the pleasure of bathing our bodies in Maytag blue cheese mac & cheese and gargling Dr Pepper-infused floats to our royal-hearts’ molted with delight. Not since the days of the Great Cockfight of ’67 deep in the slums of Quito has a bird come out fighting with such miraculous force.

Your crest and wattles are showing you dirty polygamous bastard

On track to be our go-to nesting place, this divine eatery fails to disappoint in any aspect. The walls are coated in divine red velvet ecstasy and the fine leather seats offer a free hand job with every dessert. Paradise awaits you if you aren’t chicken shit.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Spring is here, and we're out on parole. The weather in H-Town is nothing short of orgasmic. We erupted like Eyjafjallajökull just glancing at the crytal pool this morning. Fortunately we fuck like the Man from Fire Mountain, so that's only an appetizer. No, not even; an amuse-bouche.

Amuse-bouche? Amuse-douche, also known as every single night on the Washington Shore. Coming soon to a NOX near you: Dancing With the Bores. What did you say honey? We can't hear you over the oontz oontz and the din of braying goomba. Hey bro -- do you speak retard? We said, do you have a playa card -- wink at the baby, wink at the baby -- cause we don't think you're allowed to wear that t-shirt without one. Can we borrow your friend? There's this really cool trick she needs to see. Hey baby, buy us a drink. Swoop -- and scene.

Next Wednesday is Spanko de Mayo. Three things you'll need to celebrate Lord-style: (1) an attitude the size of a BP oil slick; (2) a spanking device of your own choosing (we like a wooden spoon, but a bare hand will work if you cup it just so); and (3) a pocketful of excellence! No jimmies allowed. We call that improving the gene pool one swoop at a time!

Peace out playaz.

Bonus quote of the week: Every time a fat chick manages to get laid, god smites a kitten. By sitting on it.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Lords of the Loop, along with its loyal followers, would like to offer you a collective, "Go fuck yourself!" You are the supreme ruler of all things that are the color orange and have a cone-like shape.

Congrat-u-fuckulations! Now move that shit out of my way so I can park my own fucking car. Keep your greasy, little paws to yourself and off of our luxury foreign automobiles.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

So we're fucking around at work on Craigslist, when we came across this...

"Hello selling lots of military items us uniforms ww2 and newer about seven uniforms lots of badges on them also one original nazi banner very large will take 2,200 for all flag alone is worth at least 1,200 i paid 1,500 for the uniform alone over ten years ago. i also have lots of barn collectibles old saws one large cross cut several oil lamps, several cotton scales and other old scales i have over 1,000 in these items which i have collected around 15 years if you know how to ebay you can almost double your money i will take 2,800 for the whole lot. call me if interested 409 682 5634"

Did someone say barn collectibles? We decided to email our new friend in League City:

Dear Sir, we are very interested in your antique saws and other WW2 fanfare, are they still available? Can you give the estimated size of the uniforms? We are a 42 Long, any chance they will fit? How big is the flag (dimensions)? - Mr. Brown, inside the loop

His response in a day:

Mr. Brown, yes they are still available. the uniforms very [yes, we know] in size so you will need come and try them out. the flag is about 10X12'. please come look.

Us:

Great! 10X12 would make for great bed sheets for our son, he's a bit of a history buff. We'll bring a pick-up truck to get the antique barn treasures. Please have all these fine things out and available for viewing and ultimately transport. We assume $2,800.00 USD in cash is fine. We'll be down in LC on Saturday, we will call around lunch time.

His response this morning:

I don't appreciate waiting for your call all day saterday. I have the collectable all ready for you to pick up. Are you still interested?

CHOOSE YOUR OWN LOOPVENTURE

We could:(a) Truck down to League City with $2,800 in cash, try on all the uniforms, take pictures with the flag and get cold feet at the last moment.(b) Email back that we are still interested, then email under a different CL user name and start a Fuhrious bidding war.(c) See if he'll drive the stuff up and give him an address to a quaint home in the 5th Ward.(d) Don't mess with a man in possession of ancient barn saws and Nazi flags, go get some low-cal Berripop instead.

We'd rather die than...

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